


B&B&B (Blankets & Breakfast & ... Bed Buddies?)

by TheLightFury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, In the nightmares Draco watches his mum die, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, M/M, Nightmares, Not Really Character Death, Or watches her try to kill him, Pre-Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLightFury/pseuds/TheLightFury
Summary: “Want some breakfast, Malfoy?”The voice came from behind him, and for a moment Draco debated even acknowledging the bloke—moving hadn’t been on his itinerary for the day. But the voice sounded suspiciously like Potter’s, and, as always, curiosity got the better of him.“It’ll be closed,” he murmured, after a moment of surprised silence. But Potter shook his head, a shadow of a half-smile crossing his face for the briefest of moments.“The kitchen is never closed if you know who to ask. Want a muffin?”When Draco can't face getting up, he remains in the Eighth Year dorm, presumably alone, drowning in self-hatred and horrible abusive memories. Fortunately, one Harry Potter is on hand, and he has his own plan to avoid the ghosts of the past.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 532





	B&B&B (Blankets & Breakfast & ... Bed Buddies?)

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by the wonderful @secretlycrazyhummingbird, and I had a lot of fun writing it! Thanks to OTPshipper98 for the help with the title! Hope you enjoy, but please heed the tags! I don't want anyone getting triggered! <3

He knew he should get up. It was lazy to stay in bed; something only slovenly cretins and peasants did. It was entirely unbecoming of a Malfoy—which, despite no longer being something he was proud of, he still was, and unlearning the rules didn’t just happen overnight. And yet here he was, lying in bed in the deserted Eighth Year dorm, ignoring all his responsibilities and obligations, when he fundamentally didn’t deserve the rest. He was no longer worth luxuries such as bunking off school because he felt like death. In fact, he deserved to get up even if he was three seconds from actually collapsing, just make himself faint. He was a Death Eater. Scum. He needed to be punished. But as the memory of his pile of homework weighed on his mind, and the chill of the dorm seemed to creep closer, clawing at him trying to sink into his very bones, the more he found himself burrowing into his thick, fleecy blanket, exhaustion crushing him in his place. 

He just couldn’t fight today. Nothing was easy anymore, and nothing came close to being worth the struggle it took to get through the day. Lessons now were excruciating, each teacher lecturing them on a daily basis about the importance of NEWTs and how their future depended on them—as if he had a future at all—whilst giving them enough homework to bury a First Year. No one spoke to him anymore because everyone hated him, but were sure to frown and whisper about him as he passed. Some even hexed him whenever they got the chance. And even sleep wasn’t an escape; each night was full of nightmares, each more gruesome than the last. Visions of the Dark Lord’s evil, grinning face haunted him on a nightly basis, often interspersed by scenes of his mother. When that happened, Draco found himself watching her being tortured to death, or found her cold and pale, frozen in terror, or even sometimes, watched as she cried over his own dead body. Last night she’d been placed under the Imperious Curse and ordered to kill him; just as her wand had started to shoot a bright flash of light in his direction, he’d been wrenched into consciousness, gasping and shaking, already exhausted before the sun had even risen properly. After that wonderful awakening, he just couldn’t take any more shit today. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel comfortable about it. 

As Draco stared blankly at the wall, barely noticing the sun’s rays drifting across it, guilt ate at him, seeping insidiously through every inch of his body, drowning him in self-hatred. 

“ _ Coward,”  _ his father’s voice spat in his mind, twisting daggers in his chest.  _ “Disgraceful, underserving, weak boy! You should be up! You don’t deserve to rest! You should be making me proud!”  _

But though each word struck him like a whip—cold and brutal—making him physically flinch with each new insult, Draco just curled tighter under the covers, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, unable to do anything to fight back or drown him out. He didn’t deserve to fight anyway. Everything his father said was true.

As his father’s tirade continued, insults becoming more colourful, more inventive, Draco found himself drifting further and further into himself. As his mind tried to protect himself from the abuse, his ability to feel the warmth of the blanket wavered, his view of the sun dimmed, and he found himself simply staring into space, entirely ignorant of anything and everything around him. 

The only thing he could feel was emptiness. 

*

He didn’t know how much later it was when the sound of someone using the bathroom brought him back to the dorm. Sun still flooded the room, stronger now, as though celebrating midday—though what was to celebrate Draco really had no idea. The dorm—and life in general—was just as cold, just as horrid as before. And now his mouth was as dry as the desert, and his stomach was so empty he felt sick.

_ Lovely _ .

As the rustle of someone emerging from the bathroom interrupted the haunted silence, Draco sighed to himself, resuming blandly fixating on a particularly dull point on the wall, determined to ignore everything. But then the person spoke, rudely disrupting his important plans.

“Want some breakfast, Malfoy?”

The voice came from behind him, and for a moment Draco debated even acknowledging the bloke—moving hadn’t been on his itinerary for the day. But the voice sounded suspiciously like Potter’s, who should have been out with his Gryffindor chums, laughing and being reckless, pissing off every sane person within 10 metres, and, as always, curiosity got the better of him.

He’d barely moved an inch when jet black hair sticking up at all angles came into view, soon followed by a hint of a scar on the man’s forehead, and those wire-framed glasses, forcing Draco to blink in dull surprise. Against all odds, Harry Potter was stood next to his bed, clad in some incredibly comfortable looking fluffy pajamas, with an exhausted, haunted tinge to his eyes that perfectly mirrored how Draco felt. 

“It’ll be closed,” he murmured, after a moment of surprised silence. But Potter shook his head, a shadow of a half-smile crossing his face for the briefest of moments.

“The kitchen is never closed if you know who to ask. Want a muffin?”

Draco frowned, wondering what on earth Potter was on about, but he didn’t have the energy to care. He was quite certain he didn’t have the energy to eat either; who cared about food when life was this shit? But then his stomach growled at the thought, and one side of Potter’s mouth twitched again, just a little, as he nodded to himself, and left before Draco could do anything else.

_ “He’s so weird,”  _ Draco thought to himself, sighing as he turned back over and shut his eyes again, half hoping he’d be asleep before the idiot returned.  _ “Who gets their enemy breakfast at midday?”  _

But not a few minutes later, the sound of the dorm door opened again, and footsteps approached. Draco ignored it, still facing the opposite direction with his eyes firmly shut, as if ignoring Potter would stop any further bizarre events occurring. Which is exactly why he didn’t realise Potter’s intentions, and ended up yelping in surprise when the bed dipped behind him unexpectedly.

“Potter!” he protested as he rolled unwillingly towards the idiot. The dickhead was now sitting on his bed with a tray of food, munching on a hash brown like he didn’t have a care in the world! “Don’t you have manners, you absolute cretin?!” 

Hastily he readjusted, dredging up every ounce of energy he had to shoot the trademark Malfoy glare at the scarhead. Potter, of course, the absolute bastard, simply continued chewing, a slight smirk on his face.

“And what do you call someone who yells at the person who brought them breakfast without so much as a “please” or “thank you”, Malfoy?” Potter deadpanned innocently after casually finishing his mouthful, holding Draco’s favourite breakfast muffin in his hand. Draco scowled.

“Oh shut up,” he snapped, snatching the muffin and huffing as he hauled himself into a position he could eat in. He didn’t miss the flicker of amusement that glimmered in Potter’s eyes as he turned his attention to the bacon, but he did ignore it. Pointedly.

Slowly, they made their way through the tray. At first it was almost comfortable, the small, simmering annoyance from their interaction bubbling gently through Draco’s veins, distracting him, making things seem almost normal—especially with the air of smugness that was rolling gently off the Gryffindor... But just like everything else, it didn’t last. Soon Draco’s thoughts grew louder, pulling him away from the dorm, allowing a gloomy silence to seep between them once more. Judging by Potter’s glazed eyes, he wasn’t the only one being tortured by his own mind. Less than ten minutes later, each mouthful of tender sausage, or soft, buttery croissants seemed utterly tasteless. 

“Thanks,” Draco muttered, throwing the last of his pastry down and wiping the crumbs from his fingers. As cold emptiness twisted in his stomach once more, swelling from a small dot to a ravenous cavern intent on swallowing him whole, he turned back over in bed, back to Potter and the world once more.

Even through the haze of numbness, some part of Draco’s mind refused to relax, focusing on the man behind him, waiting for him to move, or leave, or flop back into his own bed, or just do anything at all. But the Gryffindor didn’t move. As the seconds ticked by, Potter merely sat there, apparently finishing off a pain au chocolat, and—from the burning sensation on his arm—staring at him silently. As if that wasn’t creepy, or goddamn annoying at all. 

_ “Just ignore it,”  _ he thought.  _ “You’ve already established he’s weird. He’ll go away in a minute, no need to waste your energy.”  _

But Potter didn’t go away. He didn’t move an inch. He just kept chewing and staring, each noise grating more and more on Draco’s nerves. 

He was just drawing in a breath to shout at the prick to just  _ Piss. Off.  _ when all of a sudden the mattress shifted, Potter’s weight lifting from the bed, making him pause. In the next second, the sound of the tray moving reached his ears, and everything seemed to get a little colder again, as if that was even possible. 

Somehow, through the dense smog that filled his mind, a vague thought about how it had almost been nice to sit with someone without being attacked or derided or forced to do anything he didn’t want to formed. 

_ “But it’s over now,”  _ Draco thought matter of factly, already settling back into his half-dead state in an effort to ignore the pain that statement caused.

But before his mind had the chance to quieten properly, suddenly Draco’s blankets were lifted behind him, letting in a cold rush of air and forcing him to yelp once more. In the next moment the mattress dipping again, and limbs collided with his as someone clambered into his bed.

“Potter?!” he all but shrieked, “What are you—? How can you—? I—” he spluttered as a head joined his on the pillow at the same time as an arm wrapped around his waist and legs stretched out behind his.

“Calm down, Malfoy,” Potter’s voice murmured in his ear, a hint of exasperation in his tone as if somehow this wasn’t entirely absurd and Draco was overreacting. “I want a hug. You look like you need one. If you want me to stop, tell me, I’m not really into hugging someone without their consent. But otherwise shut up. Your bed is comfy and warm and your squawking is stopping me from enjoying it.”

With that, Potter promptly fell silent, readjusting his arm and shuffling closer, relaxing against Draco’s back. And though Draco tried to come up with a comeback, and tried to curse Potter for being so presumptuous, for just climbing into his bed and violating his space with his disgustingly messy hair, and he tried to move, to scorn him, to insult him and resist him… Draco was frozen, powerless to resist Potter’s presence. 

The Gryffindor was just so  _ warm _ . And comfortable! And for some ridiculous reason, with his arm loosely around Draco’s waist, suddenly Draco felt safer. Calmer. Less… Empty… 

Before Draco knew what was happening, he was relaxing too, all thoughts of protests drowning in the gentle trickle of pleasure that was curling slowly, tentatively through him. 

“Fine,” he tried to spit, stubbornly ignoring the fact that he sounded distinctly happy with this arrangement. “But don’t think this isn’t the weirdest thing in the world, Potter.” To his surprise, the Gryffindor huffed a small laugh behind him, shaking against him slightly as he did so. 

“Agreed,” Potter breathed, and all at once Draco was certain that Potter had his eyes shut. “But weird is my normal, so who cares. Now shush.”

With an indignant noise in the back of his throat, and his own lips quirking at the corners, for once in his life, Draco did what Potter told him, hesitantly let his eyes slip closed too, and letting the world fade away. This time, however, one very warm sensation remained, holding him firmly around his waist, grounding him, protecting him from too much pain, and too many memories. 

There, curled up under his blankets, and wrapped up in Potter’s arms, Draco finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep, certain that the saviour of the wizarding world was too. Draco only hoped that when he woke up, Potter would still be there, and that one day he could help the man as much as he’d helped him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Come say hi to me on Tumblr! @april-thelightfury115!


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